In An Age Before

by Phantom Bard

Part 298 posted, in which Helluin and the Riders of Norðr-vestandóttir Bý aid the Third Marshal Haleth in Rohan's defeat of the Easterling invaders. Brutal weather, disease, and failing morale play a part. Aldburg is no sooner freed of the eastern threat when tidings come of the Dunlending's invasion from the west. OCs galore as usual.

234. In An Age Before Chapter 234

In An Age Before – Part 243

The ride from the Rammas Echor to the gates of the city took but a third of an hour and Helluin suspected that the horses had decided the sooner there, the sooner fed. She could not blame them. Húveren had been all too willing to explore e'ery new scent 'til Draugrán hoisted him up to share his saddle. At the gates, the expected detail of sentries met them, but without undue suspicion, for they had already been passed by the guards at the Encircling Wall. Helluin had but to proffer Captain Annuihír's writ for the trio to be admitted.

Draugrán and Dúnriel stared at the curtain wall of hard, black stone topped with crenellated battlements, watchtowers hosting artillery pieces, the tall gates, the massive timbers and fittings securing their backs when closed, and the hinges, 'nigh man high, which allowed their movement. Ten fathoms above their heads, the wall walk crossed above the gate 'twixt a pair of flanking towers. It all appeared quite strong at first glance, but Helluin's more practiced eye noted that the deficiencies in structure had not been amended since Anárion had first designed it.

There was no moat, no drawbridge, no barbican, no portcullis, no defensive entry tunnel with its arrow loops in the walls and murder holes in the ceiling, and no structure greater in thickness than the curtain wall. Compared to the hidden gate and false entrances of Fornost Erain, or the treacherous entrances through the walls of the Ithryn Luin's citadel, Minas Tirith fairly invited the breaking of its defenses. A foe needed 'naught but a ram of sufficient mass to bring against the gates. And because those gates stood at ground level with easy approaches 'cross level land from all sides, dragging a ram into position would be a simple feat.

Helluin shook her head and directed the two Rangers hence, through the bailey behind the gate and down an avenue to the left. They found the first circle awash with people going about their business. The stalls and shops of artisans were busy, and the carts of street merchants in a narrow market square were well patronized. Just beyond it, piles of discarded vegetables were heaped in an alley. Tubs of offal lay outside the doors of butcher shops, their contents free for the taking by the poor. Children ran wild through the crowds chasing wooden hoops that they kept rolling upright with sticks, or played games with leather balls kicked or thrown depending on their size. Some staged mock-battles with wooden swords. Their laughter and shrieking joined the haggling and shouting of their elders whilst the sounds of penned livestock and caged poultry filled the air as much as their stench. The din, movement, and odors created an o'erload of the senses that set Húveren to barking without pause. Within the tall, outer curtain wall, 'naught was relieved by any breeze.

Helluin breathed through her mouth whilst Dúnriel wrinkled her nose and Draugrán suppressed an expression of disgust. They had both grown up with animals, but had lived in open hamlets and modest towns, not constrained within a walled fortress. As such, they were no more accustomed to the smells of Minas Tirith than was Helluin. T'would take time to become inured to the miasma of the city; it always did. Beinvír would have hated this, she thought, though the Green Elf had endured it and worse during the Kin strife.

After two furlongs, they came to a side street opposite the Second Circle Gate that branched from the boulevard towards the curtain wall. Helluin urged them left, onto the Rath Celerdain, or Lamp Wright's Street. The Rangers saw that there were indeed shops selling and repairing lamps on either side of that way, but at the end, separated from the outer wall of the city by only a narrow, encircling lawn, stood a larger establishment. The building was familiar in design, much the same as the Prancing Pony in Bree, with a central structure and paired side wings enclosing a courtyard on three sides. A sign above the door proclaimed, En Sennas Iaur, The Old Guesthouse.

"This is well," Helluin said, smiling. "At least one establishment has survived since my last visit. Come, my friends. Here we may take our noon meal."

Draugrán and Dúnriel were only too glad to endure the disappointed expressions of their horses as they tied them to a hitching rail out front. Helluin gave Álfrhestr a look, as if to ask, need I tie thee hither with a rope 'round thy neck, or shalt thou await me?

I shall await thee, Helluin, but thou shalt owe me a pail of oats, the young stallion declared ere offering a theatric grin.

Helluin groaned, but sweetened the bargain, silently saying, I shall add a couple apples as well for thy patience, thank thee kindly.

Álfrhestr nodded enthusiastically. After a glance 'round revealed no other steeds lacking tack, Helluin doffed her cloak and laid it 'cross the stallion's back. He gave her a questioning look and she explained, t'will keep thee from being deemed a stray by the guesthouse's hostler.

Ere he could complain, Helluin led Draugrán and Dúnriel up a low trio of steps and through the door to the common room with Húveren close on their heels. They were met by warmer air scented with food and spilt ale, the bustle of servers, the cacophony of the kitchen, and the rumble of conversations amongst the patrons. These were not lords and ladies of the city, nor foreign ambassadors to the king, but rather, being in the First Circle, they were itinerant traders, local merchants, common travelers, no few soldiers, and assorted hucksters, gamblers, and knaves. Though they were immersed in their own petty guiles and concerns, there was no lordly pretension. Even their initial appraisal of the three when they first entered was not o'erly prolonged despite Helluin's antique armor. The Noldo smiled, finding the company amenable.

A server met them after they had spent only a short span standing just within the door. He gave them a questioning look and in response to the Noldo holding up three fingers, beckoned them hence to a small table beside a window that looked out 'cross eight feet of grass to the blank inner face of the black stone curtain wall. After they took their seats, he asked if they would care for ale. Three heads nodded 'aye' and he hastened to the bar. He had paid the young hound no mind.

Whilst awaiting their refreshment, they perused a menu board hung o'er the bar with the kitchen's rather limited luncheon offerings writ in white chalk. Thither they read; stew of beef with roasted root vegetables, stew of chicken parts with roasted root vegetables, and stewed fish of the day with roasted root vegetables.

"Five hundred fifty years ago the stewed beef was passable, but Beinvír found a chicken's head and feet amongst the stewed chicken parts," Helluin quietly recalled from her last visit, and a hunk of keel simmered into a gelatinous state at the bottom of her bowl.

"What of the stewed fish of the day?" Dúnriel softly asked.

"That day was Eärenya¹ and today is Isilya²," Helluin replied, "I should not recommend it." ¹(Eärenya, Sea Day, Thursday Quenya) ²(Isilya, Moon Day, Monday Quenya) (These names are King's Reckoning weekday names that used modified Elvish day names in Quenya)

The Ranger gave her a queasy look at the thought. The server returned with three generous tankards of golden ale and then stood expectantly awaiting their selections.

"We shall have three portions of the stewed beef with roasted root vegetables and a loaf with butter for the table," Helluin said.

The server nodded and told them, "Bread and butter comes with orders for each table. I shall return shortly."

Now as they sat waiting for their meals, they became aware of the conversations at other tables 'round them. Seated behind Dúnriel and Draugrán, and therefore in Helluin's direct line of sight, were four soldiers of the king. These wore limited armor, breastplates and greaves of steel, and bracers of leather embossed with the White Tree. They had removed their cloaks and sword belts and had draped them o'er the backs of their chairs to make sitting the easier. As is typical amongst the lower ranks, they were carping o'er the potential hazards of their duties and feeling pessimistic whilst nursing the last of their ale ere returning to their posts.

"I have learnt that half my company is to be deployed to East Osgiliath," one said, worry etched upon his face. "I pity them, being posted so close to the Morgul Vale. I fear the rest of my company shall be next."

"'Tis but two score and five miles from Anduin to Minas Morgul," a second said. "Those in Osgiliath shall be o'errun ere we can reinforce them."

"The only posting worse is to be a Ranger in Ithilien," a third said, and the others nodded in agreement.

"I pity them the most," said the first soldier, "for none know their deployment and none would miss them 'til 'tis far too late."

"I have heard that those captured are turned into Orcs," said the fourth soldier, "or eaten."

His three companions blanched and fell silent a while, staring despondently into their mugs or at their empty plates. The first soldier looked up, and seeing the mixed green cloaks of the two Rangers sitting with their backs to his table, nudged the soldier beside him with an elbow and tilted his head to the strangers. The comments from third and fourth soldiers at their table had come from the pair with their backs to the Rangers.

The first two soldiers looked past the Rangers and could not help but see Helluin, and then they could not help staring as they took in her armor. In all their history, only a very few knights of Gondor had e'er been women, and no knight they had e'er seen wore such foreign mail and plate. Almost as an afterthought, they marked that it bore neither the heraldry of Gondor, nor of any other realm. As they stared, they were subtly captured by her eyes.

"So, Rangers of Lebennin again serve in Ithilien?" Helluin asked the first and second soldiers, now that they were staring at her.

"Aye, for o'er a year now," the first soldier said, feeling compelled to answer.

"They were sent east but a fortnight after Minas Ithil fell," added the second, experiencing the same compulsion.

"Just after the withdrawal of the Northern Army," finished the first.

By then, the two soldiers seated with their backs to Helluin's table had turned and saw the northern Rangers looking back at them.

"I wager ye would know better than we of the Rangers," the third said to them, adding a respectful dip of his head.

Then he looked more closely at Draugrán and Dúnriel, marking their dark hair, pale skin and bright eyes lit from within, lordly traits gleaned from the bloodline they had inherited. Their facial features recalled the visages of many portraits carved in stone.

"I would swear ye are Dúnedain and not Men of Lebennin," he hesitantly ventured.

"We are Dúnedain Rangers of the north," Draugrán told them.

"Here in the south we have heard no tales of northern Rangers," said the second soldier.

"Are ye veterans of the war with Angmar?" Asked the fourth.

"Nay, for we were born in the generation after the Witch King's fall," said Dúnriel.

This led to a brief silence as the soldiers tallied the years since the defeat of Angmar and realized that both of the northern Rangers were still quite young. By reflex, they wondered how well trained they could truly be. Ere they could voice their questions, Helluin changed the topic by offering a tactical assessment.

"I wager that should any movements come from Imlad Morgul, t'will be Rangers of Lebennin who spread the alarm to the garrison in Osgiliath," she said. "Ere Gondor's founding, 'twas the charge of the Men of Lebennin to keep watch o'er the Black Land. T'would seem that duty is renewed."

"If 'twas e'er so, then 'twas a long Age ago," said the fourth soldier.

"'Twas just so," she assured him, "beginning four thousand years ago when the Rangers of Lebennin first learnt their ways of warfare."

Doubting looks met her words. With both hands, Helluin swept back her hair revealing the pointed tips of her ears. The soldiers stared, shocked at first, for none of the Elder Kindred had been seen in the city in living memory. Yet at the same time, they could no longer doubt 'aught that she had said, for if any knew the history of the Mortal Lands, 'twas the immortals who yet dwelt upon them.

"Gondor has gone to war with Mordor aforetime," Helluin told them, "and Sauron fell. His armies were vanquished, his tower was razed, and his realm was occupied. 'Twas his second great defeat at the hands of the Dúnedain. I would bid ye keep hope, for though he seems all-powerful and terror precedes his Nazgûl, he is not so mighty that he cannot be bested. Even the Vala he worships was chained and driven from Eä in his time."

Ere the soldiers could digest her words or begin to ask questions, the server returned with the noon meal, setting utensils, a loaf, a dish of butter, and the three bowls of beef stew on the table before Helluin, Draugrán, and Dúnriel. Their order was received with thanks and the three sat a while in silence with heads bowed, then gratefully dug into their victuals.

'Neath the table, Húveren perked up, summoned by the scents of food to sit expectantly at his master's feet. Draugrán rewarded him with a hunk of gristle and a gravy sodden lump of something that might have been a potato. The grateful dog licked his fingers clean.

The four soldiers had turned back to their table and finished the last of their ale. Though they smiled not, nor jested 'twixt themselves, when they rose to return to their duties, their faces held looks of determination and they stood straighter. Helluin's words had gifted them a shred of hope. Rather than disturb the diners with words of farewell, they simply offered dips of their heads as they passed and then took their leave.

"When we finish here, we shall resume our ascent of the circles of the city," Helluin told the Rangers later as they sipped the last from their tankards. They had set their stew bowls on the floor for Húveren to lick clean. "The road winds in switchbacks, passing through a guarded gate ere entering each level. At the mid-point of each circle, a tunnel passes through the keel of rock ye saw as we approached. We shall ride to the sixth level, there to find stabling for our horses. To come before the king, we must be admitted to the Seventh Circle, but I see no difficulties in that."

"We have seen common folk and small businesses on our way from the gate," Dúriel said. "Does each circle have its own character?"

"Yea and nay, for the circles increase in formality with their altitude," Helluin answered, drawing a rolling of her eyes from the young Ranger. "The Seventh Circle is the administrative and ceremonial center of the realm. 'Tis the abode of the royal family and hosts the throne of the Gondor. Additionally, there are chambers and offices for the king's counselors, the apartments and offices of the Steward of Gondor, the Royal Archives and Historical Collection, the Royal Guesthouse, a garrison of citadel guards, the High Court with its Fountain and the White Tree, a chamber for the palantír, Merethrond, the Royal Hall of Feasts, and the new watchtower."

"And the Sixth Circle holds a stable? Surely there is more?" Draugrán asked as he retrieved their cleaned bowls and stacked them 'nigh the edge of the table.

"It holds a military stable for the King's Errand Riders. Diplomatic personages and visiting nobles may keep their mounts therein whilst engaged in business in the Seventh Circle," Helluin corrected. "Also in the Sixth Circle are the Houses of Healing, the armory of the city artillery, their primary barracks, training grounds, mess hall, and many mansions of the greater nobility of the city. There too is Fen Hollin, the entrance to Rath Dínen, the Silent Street of The Hallows whither stand the tombs of the kings and stewards of the city."

The server came, collected a coin from Helluin, and then stared at their cleaned bowls. He muttered to himself that, "They really liked the stew…who'd have thought…t'wasn't that good."

"I suppose most pertinent to us is the Second Circle whither we are next to enter," Draugrán said shortly later as they came to the door of the common room.

"The Second Circle holds the homes of many common folk, many shops and studios of artisans, taverns, low theaters, and markets less oft patronized by those coming from the Pelennor Fields when compared with the First Circle. 'Tis also home to the garrison of Minas Tirith and the greater part of the city's troops have their barracks, armory, training grounds, stables, and mess not far from the gate leading from the First Circle. We shall be questioned there, I expect."

"And what of the third to fifth circles?" Asked Dúnriel.

"As I said aforetime, they increase in wealth and pretention as they ascend. They hold the homes of successful merchants, lesser nobility, specialized shops and studios, finer theaters, municipal gardens, and the public baths. In the Fifth Circle is the City Achieves, a courthouse, the offices of barristers, notaries, a library and scriptorium for researching and drafting legal documents, and the bureaucracies of other public services. The Fourth Circle houses an observatory for viewing the stars by the king's astrographers, the laboratories of esoteric scientists and licensed charlatans, certified soothsayers, diviners, and fortunetellers, engineers of arcana and errata, snake handlers and the vendors of their oils, herbalists, echolaliacs, and quack doctors. Purchase 'naught offered to thee and believe not a word spoken to thee."

After that explanation, Dúnriel blinked and tried to absorb all that Helluin had said.

"And what of the Third Circle?" Draugrán asked.

The Noldo gave him a veiled look accompanied by the hint of a grin, ere offering a less than comforting, "thou shalt see."

By then, they had returned to the hitching rail and the Rangers had untied their horses. True to his word, Álfrhestr was still there, dozing as he stood and swaying slightly with each breath. He sputtered to wakefulness when Helluin whipped her cloak off his back.

Wha-wha-what…done so soon? He managed to ask whilst looking 'round to orient himself.

"Indeed so," Helluin told him as she folded her cloak into her travel bag, "we are off to the upper circles of the city to find ye a stable."

And none too soon, she saw one of the Ranger horses silently mutter.

Aye, I am famished and liable to expire from starvation at any moment, declared the other.

The Noldo rolled her eyes at that, glad her mortal companions had no understanding of what their steeds said. A glance revealed a bare patch in the guesthouse lawn that had served as an equine hors d'oeuvre.

Helluin, Draugrán, and Dúnriel mounted up and set off back up the Rath Celerdain, following Húveren towards the gate of the Second Circle. Behind them, the portly innkeeper walked from the stable wing to the entrance of the common room. He stared after them a moment and then cast an irritated glance at the new bare patch on his lawn. 'Twas vexing and he toyed with the notion of covering his yard with gravel.

Now Helluin and the Rangers came to the gate of the Second Circle. Like the gates guarding the subsequent circles of the city, 'twas of heavy oaken timbers set 'twixt smallish towers in the encircling wall. The doors were of sufficient height to allow the passage of a laden wain, and of sufficient breadth to allow a pair of such to pass side by side. A company of ten soldiers lounged to the sides, but at the strangers' approach, they roused themselves from their leisure and formed up in a wedge formation with a sergeant at their head.

The sergeant hailed the trio with curiosity, but not yet with suspicion, for they appeared to be two Dúnedain in the raiment of Rangers of Lebennin, and an armored female warrior about whom he could draw no certain conclusion. From the stains and dirt on their cloaks, he reckoned that they had been long afield, and the armored female rode bareback, something that not even their allies from the Éothéod did any longer. All three bore bows and quivers of arrows, but the female's appeared akin to the steel Númenórean war bows that Gondor's soldiers no longer used. Only a few such weapons still survived from the Second Age intact, and they were valuable heirlooms of the South Kingdom. None had been borne in battle for many lives of Men. The dog that accompanied them was no hound of war, but rather appeared to be a house pet.

"I bid ye stay and declare whence ye came and whither ye would go," the sergeant said. "There are strange tales wound 'bout ye, this I can plainly see, and what those tales tell should be known to the king."

Helluin and the two Rangers ceased their advance at once and dipped their heads to the soldiers in a respectful acknowledgement.

"Good sergeant of Gondor, we are come from Eriador," Helluin said. "I am Helluin Maeg-móremenel of the Noldor and with me are Draugrán and Dúnriel, Dúnedain Rangers in the service of Chieftain Aranarth, son of Arvedui. They have been dispatched to His Majesty King Eärnil II, to offer tidings of the north after the fall of Arthedain."

"Have ye documents or orders of embassy from your lord?" The sergeant asked.

'Twas a reasonable question and hardly unexpected. Of course, they had no such documents.

"I am not a subject of Chieftain Aranarth and bear no directive from him," Helluin said. "Yet I too would proffer tidings that the king should hear."

"Sergeant, whilst thy request is just, things are different now in the north, and as our chieftain rules no named realm, we cannot claim the formal status of an embassy before His Majesty," Dúnriel said. She sighed and shrugged her shoulders.

"We deem His Majesty a true-sighted Man of the West and would not dare to come before him with falsehoods," Draugrán said. "We offer no treaties, nor any parlay 'twixt allies, and can only offer tidings of thy brothers in the north and the state of our people who survived the War with Angmar."

Helluin thought the words of the two Rangers both crafty and true, and she silently applauded their inventiveness. They shall make great liars in no time, she thought.

The sergeant examined them closely, but could detect no untruths in their eyes. He found himself undecided and was still giving thought to his options when Helluin reclaimed his attention.

"Good sergeant, if 'tis possible, thou may ask of Prince Eärnur regarding me. We saw each other briefly on the field of battle in Angmar in 1975, ere his horse was spooked and I chased the Witch King from the north. I believe he shall vouch for me. Other than that, we have but a writ of passage for the outlands from Knight Commander Annuihír at the beacon outpost of Írensaga."

The sergeant stared at her, astonished by her claims and her request. Helluin produced the writ from the shaft of her gauntlet and handed it to the sergeant. This he read and nodded to himself in approval of the seal. Alas, he had ne'er met Annuihír. He handed the writ back to Helluin, and then motioned to one of his company with a thrust of his chin uphill. The soldier saluted, hastened away, and shortly later, they heard the clatter of hooves on the pavers and cries of "make way" fading into the distance.

"I pray ye dismount and wait, and I hope that we shall soon receive word. Prince Eärnur attends his father at court in the Hall of Kings," the sergeant said. "The bench o'er there is reasonably comfortable and sits in the shade at this time of day."

He tilted his head towards a bench standing to the side of the gate in a wedge of shade cast by the left-hand tower. The three travelers nodded and dismounted, the Rangers tying their reins to a hitching rail ere they joined Helluin on the bench. After Draugrán was seated, Húveren came o'er and sat beside his boots.

The Noldo could hear the horses grumbling and shaking their heads at the delay. Helluin groaned. Álfrhestr caught her eyes.

As 'tis thee and thy friends who are the cause of the sergeant's suspicions, I can understand why ye must wait, but he hath said 'naught about us, Álfrhestr reasoned. Surely, we would be free to ascend to the Sixth Circle and come to the stables. We would be glad to await ye thither…

Indeed ye would not be free to ascend the circles of the city unsupervised, Helluin told him. Minas Tirith is a fortress city of Men, not a paddock in which to take thine ease. Being without saddle or tack, I should not be a bit surprised if thou wast impressed into service by the first to catch thee and wind up hauling wagons or a plow thereafter.

Álfrhestr gave her a horrified look and sidled a bit closer, he being the only mount not constrained by reins. Helluin stifled a chuckle. At that moment, the sergeant also sidled up and gave Helluin a careful looking o'er. His eyes fixed on her armor and weapons and he found himself with questions about all of them.

"Whence came thy bow, Helluin," he asked, "for I wager 'tis akin to those heirlooms of Númenor that came in the ships of our founding kings."

"Thou art correct, good sergeant," Helluin said. "It came from the arsenal atop Amon Sûl and was reduced in length at my request by weapon wrights of Imladris. I deem 'twas either brought hence from Atalantë in the ships of Elendil, or by the Faithful in the days of the fallen kings."

He nodded at her explanation for again, he sensed no lie in her and he knew not enough of such antique arms to gainsay her. The remainder of her kit was no less enigmatic. For some time after, he simply examined the blackened plates and fine mail rings of Helluin's armor, their multiple articulations and the lack of any visible wear. There were far more plates than a standard suit of armor made in Gondor, and the range of movement they would allow was much greater. Despite the obvious labor that had gone into their forging, they were unadorned by heraldry, jewels, inlays, or richly engraved designs. There were only some subtle relief patterns forged into the plates, and like basic ribbing, they were more for strengthening flat surfaces than decorative embellishment.

"I have seen no armor such as thou wear despite growing up in the city and seeing many a knight and warrior's kit," he said. "Despite being familiar with the gear of the southern fiefs and our northern allies, I cannot place it."

"I am not surprised that 'tis strange to thine eyes. 'Twas fabricated in Khazad-dûm o'er five thousand years ago, as a commission by the House of Gneiss," Helluin replied. "'Tis one-of-a-kind and its like shall not be made again." And none could afford it even if it could be reproduced, she thought.

Five thousand years was o'er twice the age of Gondor, the sergeant realized. The intricate black armor the Noldo wore had been made very early in the Second Age. He thought it a wonder that 'twas still serviceable.

"How can such plate and mail still offer protection after so long? Many suits far newer have worn out, their fittings weakened and their plates corroded or deformed in battle. I cannot wrap my mind 'round it," the sergeant admitted.

"Many a Dwarf lives two or three centuries in these latter days, whilst Elves can live for Ages, and so their weapons and armor are created to last. In Imladris there are many knights whose gear survives from the Second Age, and a few even date from the First," Helluin told him.

The Man shook his head in wonder, still finding such ancientry hard to believe despite Helluin's explanation.

"'Til my last defeat of the Witch King in 1975, I bore a dagger that came with me to the Mortal Shores at the start of the First Age. I wrought it in the forges of Aulë's Maiar in the Undying Lands as an essay in blade crafting during the Age of the Trees. I wager it still exists though 'tis lost to me now. Perhaps I shall recover it one day, for Sauron's servants cannot not abide it."

Silently, the sergeant reeled at the thought. A dagger, a weapon wrought in the Blessed West that was older than all mankind…older than the sun or the moon, and far, far older than Gondor or even Númenor. 'Twas inconceivable.

Whilst they had been speaking, the messenger that the sergeant had dispatched had reached the Seventh Circle. There, a captain of the Citadel Guards heard his words and ushered him into the Hall of Kings. After a short span of waiting, the steward beckoned the captain forward. Then a few whispered words brought a pause in the debates of the court.

Vorondil son of Pelendur had succeeded his father as the Steward of Gondor in 1998. He caught his lord's attention and with a gesture from the king, all talk ceased. Pelendur whispered the soldier's message into his king's ear. Eärnil's face reflected his surprise, but he turned to his son and heir.

"Know thou 'aught of one Helluin Maeg-móremenel?" He asked the prince.

The look of surprise on Prince Eärnur's face was confirmation enough, but in addition he stuttered, "Ay-aye, father. She is a knight of great prowess and renown who rode with the Host of Imladris. From afar, I saw her chase the Witch King from the battlefield in Angmar. 'Tis she of whom I spoke upon my return from the accursed land of Eriador."

"So, thou would recognize her?" The king asked.

"Aye, she would be difficult to mistake and is impossible to forget, mark my words," Eärnur said. "She bears many tokens by which she can be known."

"'Tis reported that she is now in the city, waiting with two Dúnedain Rangers at the gate of the Second Circle," Eärnil told his heir.

The prince's mouth dropped open in shock.

"I bid thee accompany a waiting soldier back to that gate and certify that 'tis truly she."

Though astonished by the turn of events, the prince was intrigued, whilst by contrast he had become more than bored with the debates of the court. He was thankful for the potentially far more interesting disturbance that would extricate him from the parliamentary proceedings that his position forced him to attend. Eärnur nodded to his father and took his leave, following the captain and the soldier out of the Hall of Kings. After he had gone, King Eärnil suspended the court for that day.

The captain accompanied them to the entrance of the lamp-lit tunnel that descended from the Court of the Fountain, through the pier of rock that bisected the city, and down to the Sixth Level. There he took his leave and returned to his duties. As they walked the dim ramp within the tunnel, the prince questioned the rather nervous soldier.

"Didst thou hear what business brought Helluin Maeg-móremenel to the city?" He asked.

"She declared that her purpose was to offer tidings to His Majesty, Your Highness," the soldier said. "She is accompanied by two Dúnedain Rangers of the North sent by their chieftain, Aranarth son of Arvedui, who dispatched them to bring word of our northern kin to the king."

The prince offered the soldier a smile and his thanks for his succinct recitation, though the Man's nervousness was clear to see. 'Twas a familiar situation to the prince and he tried to set the soldier at ease by engaging him in conversation.

"I hope our visitor is truly Helluin Maeg-móremenel," he said. "On the field of Angmar, she was fearless, her horse as well, and I deem 'twas the Witch King whose nerve was lost at their confrontation. I had not imagined such a turn, yet 'twas seen by many who bore witness. The High Elvish Lords of Imladris seemed little surprised. I was impressed with her then, and I wager my father shall be equally impressed now. Pray describe her to me."

A brief description of the Noldo followed, and Eärnur was again impressed with the soldier's composure. He had seen much detail, and remembered and recalled it now, and what he described was instantly recognizable. Just as she was described by Glorfindel and Elrond on the field in Angmar 'nigh three decades ago, he thought.

Shortly they came to the stable of the messengers and the soldier reclaimed his mount. Prince Eärnur had his own horse saddled and then the two rode down the circles of the city 'til they came to the gate of the Second Circle. The gate company snapped to attention and saluted the prince. Helluin, Draugrán, and Dúnriel came to stand before him and they offered bows in greeting.

Though he was hard pressed to tear his eyes from Helluin, the prince returned their bows with a dip of his head. The sergeant introduced the trio of visitors and Eärnur thanked him and bid him resume his post.

One glance at the Noldo confirmed the details he had heard from the lords and knights of Imladris and Lindon. Her armor and weapons made her unmistakable. Her two companions were of interest as well, for unlike the southern Rangers he knew, they were surely Dúnedain, yet the Dúnedain of Gondor did not dress or train as Rangers.

"Úlairdacil Helluin Maeg-móremenel," he said, having no doubts now about her identity. "I regret that I was unable to greet thee upon the battlefield in Angmar. I am honored to do so now."

"Prince Eärnur, 'tis my honor to greet thee," Helluin said. "By the aid and valor of the knights and soldiers thou led from the South Kingdom was Eriador freed of the Witch King and his fell host. The Men and Elves of the north stand in thy debt."

The prince nodded to her and then cast his glance on the two Rangers, meeting their bright eyes, eyes that reminded him of the royals he had first met in Lindon. Neither he, nor they wavered.

"I am Draugrán son of Faradan, Your Highness. Our chieftain, Aranarth son of Arvedui sends his thanks to thee and thy father for the aid sent to the Kingdom of Arthedain. Although our realm no longer stands, the thanks of the Men of the north is no less. We would still honor the Treaty of Ondoher and Araphant so much as we are able."

"Prince Eärnur, I am Dúnriel daughter of Anoriel and we are Dúnedain Rangers of the North. Chieftain Aranarth has bid us share tidings of Eriador with our brothers in the south. To that end, we seek an audience with thy father."

"I too have tidings to share with the king, for there are allies of Gondor in the east of whom he should learn," Helluin added.

The prince nodded to them, for he perceived that their words would be of great profit to Gondor. He could not imagine that, once their identities had been proven, his father would not wish to hear their tidings. Just their presence revealed developments unsuspected in the south. As for unknown allies in the east, the attacks by the Wainriders had trailed off in the past several decades, but renewed hostilities were expected any day. 'Aught that affected the eastern theater of war was of paramount importance to the crown.

"Pray mount and follow me now," Prince Eärnur said. He then turned to the sergeant and ordered, "Upon my authority as the king's heir and Captain of the Citadel Guard, I provide my provisional voucher of Úlairdacil Helluin Maeg-móremenel, Draugrán son of Faradan, and Dúnriel daughter of Anoriel to enter the Seven Circles of the city. Save that it be rescinded by the king, it shall remain in effect indefinitely."

"Aye, Prince Eärnur," the sergeant replied whilst standing at attention ere offering a bow, "word shall be spread to the gates and it shall be so."

Whilst Helluin, Draugrán, and Dúnriel mounted their horses and joined Eärnur riding uphill at a walk, a soldier hastened to the higher gates of the city bearing word of the prince's orders to the gate guards. Thereafter, at each successive gate, they were greeted by soldiers standing at attention and their officers bowing to their prince. 'Twas little doubt that with such an introduction, the three travelers would be recognized at the city's gates from that day forth.

Now during their ascent of the city circles, Prince Eärnur questioned Helluin much about what had come to pass after she had chased Tindomul from the field in Angmar, for he had only recovered control o'er his steed and returned to the hosts after she had galloped away. She took up the tale with her pursuit of the Nazgûl, and the sheer distance of the chase was a wonder in itself for the stamina of her steed. One hundred twenty miles Barq had covered at a continuous gallop. The prince was astounded at this feat. Álfrhestr listened with his full attention and found something mighty and noble to emulate.

On a different level, Helluin marked that the presence of the prince escorting their company seemed to stymie the worst impulses of the citizens in the Third and Fourth Circles. In the Third Circle, they passed not only the municipal baths, but also a row of private bathhouses, brothels, and social clubs. At the 'Rough Riders Bathhouse', not a single one of the flawlessly groomed and oiled youths lounging 'nigh naked outside did 'aught more than leer at Draugrán. Whilst passing the infamous 'Berúthiel's Pussy Cat Club', the drooling older 'gentlemen' refrained from wolf whistling or propositioning Dúnriel. Prince Eärnur studiously ignored them all.

In the Fourth Circle, none in the throng of greasy hucksters advertised their tinctures, divinations, or talismans. The Rangers were not offered consultations on their futures or potions to snare a spouse. No one sought to guess their weights, their dates of birth, or the names of their parents. None of the sniveling bureaucrats offered to ease their applications for a 'reasonable donation', and none of the slimy barristers offered 'free' legal advice for the pursuit of profitable suites. 'Twas so uncharacteristic that the Noldo forced it all from her mind and concentrated on continuing to tell Prince Eärnur her story.

Helluin's breaking down of the Ringwraith's bewitched horse and the subsequent battle afoot through the eastern highlands of Rhudaur birthed awe in the Prince of Gondor. She had driven the Witch King before her from early Lothron through the end of Urui…four straight months. The season of summer passed during their combat ere she finally trapped him on a precipice in the Coldfells. There she had impaled him with her dagger, pitching him backwards off a cliff, and he had abandoned his body mid-fall to escape the fatal nature of the resulting wound.

Prince Eärnur marked two facts after Helluin completed recounting her defeat of the Witch King. It seemed that foe could maintain a combat indefinitely, as could Helluin, and when mortally threatened, he was not constrained to accept the outcome. He could escape defeat at will and recover to threaten his foes with renewed evil. 'Twas how he had destroyed the North Kingdom o'er the course of five and a half centuries.

The prince concluded that to encompass his destruction, the Nazgûl would have to be defeated quickly and decisively. He could be afforded no chance to flee. 'Twas much the same conclusion that Helluin and Mithrandir had reached in Celenhár, save that they had realized that Tindomul could not even be allowed to realize that he was being assailed. At the first sight of Helluin or any other sufficiently formidable foe, he would prepare to flee his body yet again.

Having lesser wisdom and far less familiarity with the Nazgûl, Prince Eärnur deemed that a sudden onslaught by a sufficiently powerful warrior would suffice to slay the Ringwraith. 'Twas naive reasoning at best, could prove fatal at worst, but the prince was still chaffing from being driven to flight by the Witch King in Angmar. He reckoned that his foe would ne'er expect the defeat he would deliver.

Now the party arrived at the Sixth Circle and made their way to the stables of the king's messengers. There they turned o'er their mounts to the grooms ere making their way to the Seventh Circle.

At last, Álfrhestr remarked as he followed the Ranger horses.

And not a moment too soon, for I am on my last legs, Dúnriel's mare claimed as a groom led her away.

I am famished and liable to expire from starvation at any moment, Draugrán's horse declared for the second time.

Sheesh, what a bunch of whiners, Helluin thought to herself after they were gone.

"Look after the horses, my friend," Draugrán said to Húveren. He received a 'yip' in reply and then the young dog followed the horses into the stable straightaway.

"Come, my guests from afar, and ye shall have your audience before the king," Prince Eärnur declared.

Draugrán and Dúnriel offered their thanks as Helluin paced along behind. They were standing in a paved courtyard hosting the entrance to the long, ascending tunnel, protected by an iron gate and bracketed by a barrack of the City Guard and a watch post on the encircling wall. Both of these were built of the same pale limestone that was ubiquitous in the White City.

Soldiers of the gate guard welcomed the prince and his guests with bows, but eyed the strangers with neutral expressions of appraisal. Helluin felt their curiosity most, and 'neath it a measure of distrust that was not unexpected. A detail of a dozen broke off and followed the prince as an escort procession.

Within the ascending tunnel, the all was dim, chill, and a bit damp. A steady breeze of mountain air flowed down from the Court of the Fountain, and ultimately from the snow-clad slopes of Mindolluin. At intervals of a few rangar, the walls were lit by wrought iron lamps glazed with clear glass and suspended from forged chains. They tainted the air with the faint scent of lamp oil and a hint of smoke whilst offering a wavering light.

The sounds of the company's footfalls echoed 'round them, beating a tattoo with military precision as it reflected from the pavers, walls, and ceiling. E'eryone held their tongues, for 'twas clear that 'aught said would be heard by all.

In many places, the tunnel's floor gave way to smoothly hewn stairs. After rounding a curve, they finally saw a small rectangle of sky marking the upper end of the passage where it exited from a protected shaft-head and onto the lawn 'nigh the fountain and the White Tree.

Helluin recalled from past visits that the tunnel measured 'nigh a furlong, o'er whose length it ascended some hundred feet. 'Twas a defensive work as much as a practical one, constraining the count that could pass within and rejecting mounted foes. The shaft-head protecting the upper exit hosted a strong gate of wrought iron that could be closed and locked from without. Archers could effectively defend that gate, but also deadly volumes of oil could be poured through it into the tunnel and then ignited.

Finally, they reached the top and exited the shelter through the open gate. Before them stood the White Tree of Gondor and the fountain for which the court was named. Dúnriel and Draugrán stopped in their tracks and stared all 'round, first at the Court of the Fountain, then at King Calimehtar's watchtower, Merethrond, and the Hall of Kings. Finally, they turned and caught their breaths at the view o'er the low wall that looked out onto the circles of the city, the flat farmlands of the Pelennor, and in the far distance, the silvery ribbon of Anduin seven hundred feet below. Prince Eärnur looked o'er and traded grins with Helluin, but gave the Rangers time, for he knew how the first impression of that vista affected foreigners.

The White Tree of Gondor was o'er three and a half centuries in age¹, thick of bole, heavy of branch, and smooth of bark. The numerous white blossoms for which 'twas known were not to be seen in late autumn, but leaves, dark green above and silver below yet remained, to wither only in winter with the first snow. ¹(In T.A. 2003, Helluin, Draugrán, and Dúnriel saw the third White Tree of Gondor, planted in T.A. 1640 by King Tarondor. It survived until T.A. 2872.)

The tree grew amidst a fine turf in an elevated circular bed measuring ten rangar in diameter and raised a ranga above the white stone pavers that delineated the circular court. Its canopy inclined towards a fountain that stood 'twixt the White Tree and the Hall of Kings, and sprayed its jet a restrained fathom into the air. The waters rained down into a broad pool carved of the same stone, with smooth lip and an encircling step. Helluin had always deemed it shaped to resemble a very large birdbath.

At the primary compass points 'round the court, four Guards of the Court of the Fountain stood watch in their antique mithril helms and black surcoats emblazoned with the livery of Elendil. 'Neath their surcoats, they wore bright mail hauberks, cuirasses, pauldrons, gauntlets and greaves, and o'er all, long black cloaks. Another pair stood watch at the doors of the Hall of Kings, and a further pair was stationed at the entrance of the watchtower. They were tall, somber, and silent, and they bore spears as well as the swords and daggers common to all soldiers of Gondor.

The Rangers took all this in, but finally they turned to the prince with expressions of apology for causing a delay.

"We take it as a compliment to the grandeur of our city that visitors are impressed with their first sight of the Seventh Circle," he said with a smile.

Draugrán and Dúnriel returned his smile and Dúnriel said, "Thy city is indeed grand, Prince Eärnur, strong, beautiful, and very impressive."

Whilst they had been preoccupied, a half-dozen Guards of the Citadel had approached at a double-time trot. They also wore black surcoats, but these were emblazoned with the livery of Gondor. Their more practical helms were of bright steel rather than mithril, and lacked the stylized seagull's wings at their sides. Swords and daggers hung from their belts, but they bore no spears. Only after the prince returned their salutes did the dozen soldiers from the Sixth Circle bow and retreat back down the tunnel.

Accompanied now by soldiers of the Seventh Circle, Prince Eärnur led his guests to the Hall of Kings. Whilst Helluin's attention was focused mostly on the new tower of King Calimehtar, Draugrán and Dúnriel grew more and more impressed the closer they approached the hall. The sheer size of the Hall of Kings had not been so apparent when they had first arrived at the Court of the Fountain, but during their walk 'cross the hundred fathoms to its doors, its true scale was revealed.

The Hall of Kings in Minas Tirith was akin to the Great Hall of Fornost Erain in its measures of height, breadth, and length, yet 'twas not so graceful in its design. Alas, the Northern Fortress had been filled with wights and abandoned by the Dúnedain ere their births, so Draugrán and Dúnriel had ne'er set foot in the hall of the northern kings, and now they were silenced by awe.

The entrance of the hall faced east towards the White Tree…and the Black Land of Mordor. Seven broad steps led up from ground level to the paired doors that stood 'neath the central arched portal in its façade. The doors were of bronze, each measuring four rangar in height and two rangar in breadth. Their exterior surfaces were decorated with a bas-relief in which a vista of the Palace of Armenelos in Númenor formed the background for a row of half-life-sized figures depicting the earliest kings and queens. To Helluin's eye, 'naught had changed since 1447.

Above the doors, the façade lunged skyward 'twixt paired towers, ornately embellished with piers, stained glass windows, and arched bays. Behind the façade, the ceiling of the Hall of Kings rose to twenty fathoms, rib-vaulted, gilt and polychromed, its spans supported by lofty columns of black marble, massive, with flaring capitals intricately carved. Representations of birds and beasts native to Númenor were memorialized amongst flowers and vines. To each side beyond the colonnades stood lateral aisles that formed arched bays for the placement of full-figure portrait statues commemorating past kings.

Helluin and the Rangers followed Prince Eärnur through the doors and into the hall, finding it lit by clerestory windows above the side arches, tall windows in the outer sidewalls behind the portrait statues, arched stained glass windows higher in the upper walls, and the windows in the façade. One of these was placed to cast a beam of light to the far end of the hall where a semi-circular apse hosted the royal throne and the chair of the steward, backed by a carved and inlaid panel where white gems blazed as blossoms on a representation of the White Tree.

'Neath the lofty ceiling, their footsteps echoed with each footfall on the pale marble tiles. The Hall of Kings measured twenty-five fathoms in length and twenty-two of those lay 'twixt the doors and the low, broad first step before the throne. Helluin had paced that span many times o'er many centuries, but for Dúnriel and Draugrán, the space seemed vast beyond reckoning. Walking down its length, their heads shifted right and left, taking in the portraits of the past kings. Approaching the throne, Helluin marked the portraits of Eldacar, Aldamir, Hyarmendacil II, Minardil, Telemnar, Tarondor, Telumehtar, Narmacil II, Calimehtar, and Ondoher that had been installed since her last visit during the Kin strife. She saw but six alcoves remaining empty. Only four after the additions of Eärnil II and Eärnur in the next couple centuries, she thought. I wonder if they shall begin doubling them up after all the alcoves are filled?

By then, the prince and his guests had reached the far end of the hall and stood before the steps ascending to the throne. To their surprise, they saw that the king's seat was empty. On the lowest step, Steward Vorondil had risen from his chair to meet them, the plain white rod of his office in his right hand¹. Helluin, Draugrán, and Dúnriel bowed to the steward whilst the steward bowed to the prince. He then eyed the visitors carefully with a sharp and penetrating glance. If he were surprised, he hid it admirably. ¹(In this story, the Steward's Rod of Office only gains its gold knob when the stewards became the ruling lords of the city after the disappearance of the last king Eärnur in T.A. 2050.)

"My Lord Eärnur," Vorondil said, "are these visitors indeed who they claim to be and dost thou vouch for them that they may come before thy father?"

"Lord Steward, of Úlairdacil Helluin Maeg-móremenel I am certain," Eärnur said, "and I accept her voucher of the Rangers Draugrán and Dúnriel."

"Very well," the steward said. "We shall proceed to the king's withdrawing chamber wherein His Majesty King Eärnil II shall receive his visitors and take counsel. Pray follow me."

Helluin and the two Rangers trailed the prince and the steward as they walked behind the throne and through a tall, arch topped door on the right side of the apse. The space behind was familiar to the Noldo. A short corridor passed through the thickness of the wall and offered entrance to a moderate sized chamber with a high, rib-vaulted ceiling. Tall, narrow windows lit the space and a fireplace adorned the opposite wall. Therein a cheery fire burned on the grate to take the chill of so much cold stone from the air. Gathered before the fireplace were a half-dozen comfortable armchairs and a long sofa. A low table stood 'twixt the sofa and the hearth. A conference table surrounded by high-backed chairs occupied the center of the room, whilst the wall through which they had entered hosted a sideboard with a rack of wine bottles and a salver set with a decanter and goblets of gilt rimmed colored glass. In the wall to the left of the entrance stood another door leading to other rooms behind the throne.

King Eärnil stood waiting beside the chair at the head of the table, the light entering through the windows backlighting him with radiant afternoon sunshine. The steward, the prince, and the three visitors offered the king bows that he returned in the manner of the Dúnedain kings.

"My Lord Eärnil, may I present Helluin of the Noldor and the Dúnedain Rangers, Draugrán son of Faradan and Dúnriel daughter of Anoriel," Steward Vorondil said.

"Welcome to Minas Tirith, friends and allies from afar," the king said as he looked them o'er closely. "Helluin Úlairdacil, it hath been long since thou last visited the South Kingdom. Dúnriel and Draugrán, I am most curious to hear your tidings of our brothers in the north. Pray be seated that we may take counsel together."

"Suilaid nín, King Eärnil, 'tis my honor to meet thee," Helluin said as she walked to the table to claim a seat. "It hath been long indeed since I last visited the Tower of the Sun, but now we have much to speak of."

As expected, Prince Eärnur took the chair at his father's right hand. The steward took the chair at his left. Helluin seated herself beside the prince whilst the two Rangers sat beside the steward. Ere they began, the steward asked if his guests would like refreshments.

"We took our noon meal at En Sennas Iaur on the Rath Celerdain shortly after our arrival in the city," Helluin replied, "though a glass of wine would be welcome."

A twinkle lit the King Eärnil's eyes as he recalled many an hour spent as a young soldier in that common room long ago. Vorondil grimaced in thinly veiled disgust at the mention of The Old Guesthouse. Had I risked my constitution by dining there, I imagine a glass of wine to wash away the foul aftertaste would be welcome, he thought rather uncharitably. One day their fare shall cause someone to expire and we shall finally have cause to close them down at last.

By stepping on a concealed pedal 'neath the table, the steward rang a bell that summoned a servant. A youth in the livery of the tower appeared from the second door, bowed to the gathering, and looked to Vorondil who canted his head at the sideboard. The servant hastened to pour goblets of a deep red wine from the decanter, one for each of those seated in the room. He made a circuit 'round the table with the salver, presenting the refreshments ere he bowed again and withdrew, leaving the decanter on the table.

The Ithryn Luin could learn some subtleties from this steward, Helluin thought, for his pedal is a more discreet method of summoning servants than their dangling bell cord.

Helluin sipped from her goblet, finding the wine quite rich and tasty.

"I am curious and would hearken to each of ye," King Eärnil said, "and as ye know your own tidings, perhaps 'tis better that ye decide who shall speak first."

Helluin looked to the Rangers and gave a subtle dip of her head, bidding them say their rede. Draugrán and Dúnriel looked to each other and Dúnriel deferred to her cousin that he should speak first. Draugrán nodded, collected his thoughts, and then addressed the king.

"Your Highness, Ernil Eärnur, Lord Steward," Draugrán began, capturing the lords of the city with his bright eyes, "following the Fall of Fornost in 1974 and the Defeat of Angmar in 1975, the Kingdom of Arthedain was fractured, its king slain, its capital city occupied by the Witch King's wights, and its people driven into refuge in Lindon or scattered. Holdings in the countryside were devastated with great destruction done to structures and livestock.

'Twas the wisdom of Prince Aranarth that rather than take the crown as the sixteenth King of Arthedain and rebuild the realm, he would embrace obscurity, dispersing his people amongst the Middle Men of Eriador. To do otherwise would but invite future assaults by Angmar and bring the eventual extermination of the Dúnedain in the north. The Kingdom of Arthedain is no more.

So 'tis to this day that no cities have risen, no fortifications have been built, and no standing armies are maintained. The surviving soldiers of Arthedain undertook training as Rangers, thereby to safeguard their people and defend their lands. Eriador now hosts some fifteen thousand Dúnedain Rangers living in townships and hamlets scattered throughout the lands of old Arnor, save in the north. We patrol at the local level, defend our subjects to whom Chieftain Aranarth acknowledges that we are bound, and oppose whatsoe'er remaining servants of evil that we chance to meet."

"Father, when we departed the port of Mithlond, I reckon some fourteen thousand soldiers and knights of Arthedain had survived the war," Prince Eärnur said, "along with perhaps forty-five thousand civilian refugees."

The king nodded, accepting his heir's estimates. By the Valar, barely sixty thousand of our people survived in the north. The realm of Elendil has fallen so far it breaks the heart, Eärnil thought. Yet I recall my son's impressions of that people, small in number, yet kingly in blood. Even these two common-born Rangers show traits rarely seen now in Gondor save in the most noble houses.

"King Eärnil, Prince Eärnur, Lord Steward," said Dúnriel, taking up the narrative and fixing Eärnil, Eärnur, and Vorondil with her gaze, "Chieftain Aranarth succeeded his father as the Heir of Isildur, and wed Lady Almiril of Minas Tirith in Cerveth of 1988, though they have yet to produce an heir. Almiril herves¹ Aranarth was a handmaiden to Princess Fíriel at the court of King Ondoher ere she wed Prince Arvedui, and 'tis said that she hails from the minor nobility of the city. ¹(herves, wife Sindarin)

There is more that may be unknown in the South Kingdom. For nine and forty generations, the lineal heirs of Balar, elder son of Balan have been acknowledged as kings of the Middle Men in Eriador. The current King of Eriador is Lord Níshír, and his son and heir is Prince Gwíthír. Since the mid-1400s, Rhudaur has also hosted the Heiresses of the First House of Dorthonion who descend in direct line from Dúrrél, elder daughter of Baragund son of Bregolas of the First House of the Atani. The current Lady of the First House is Athelrian daughter of Canthriel. Her daughter and heiress is the Lady Brennil."

The faces of the king, the prince, and the steward reflected their surprise at her tidings, for they had been totally unknown aforetime and wholly unsuspected. Even Prince Eärnur who had fought in Eriador had learnt 'naught of them. That such ancient lineages had survived in the north was a revelation to them all. They stared at Dúnriel, and each of Gondor's nobles entertained different trains of thought as they tried to absorb what they had heard.

At 'nigh e'ery turn, Eriador has proved a strange land, Prince Eärnur thought. Ere leading our army hence, I thought the world of Men well known and us the most ancient and noble, yet from the first I was met by immortal Elves and direct descendants of Númenor. Now I have learnt that noble lineages of Men from the Elder Days yet linger in the north.

So there is a king of all the Middle Men of Eriador ruling in Rhudaur. How numerous are his people and what forces does he command, Eärnil wondered. In Gondor, the Middle Men e'er outnumbered the Dúnedain, and with the Dúnedain of the north now so few, is Eriador to be a kingdom of the Middle Men one day? Could they prove valuable allies for Gondor? Now that Angmar is defeated, might we not enter into a treaty of mutual support with them? I reckon little aid can come from Chieftain Aranarth and his folk as war looms in the south.

She speaks well, but speaks not of all she knows, Steward Vorondil thought. Aranarth retains the title of Heir of Isildur, but he is equally the Heir of Anárion through his mother Queen Fíriel. This we have not forgotten. Now he has wed a Dúnadaneth of the south and that is well, but what of the future? What if his heir or some later descendant should wed an Heiress of the First House of the Edain, or the daughter of a King of Eriador? Would he then command the allegiance of the Middle Men as well as the Men of the West as a birthright? Could he then claim preeminence in succession here by virtue of primogeniture of lineage? The true blood of the First House yet flows in two lines. 'Tis a wonder. And I must also look into the ancestry of Lady Almiril.

'Cross the table, Helluin read their concerns in their faces and saw their worries in their eyes.

Having denied the claims of Queen Fíriel and King Arvedui, the Steward calculates the fallout of his father supporting the choice of Eärnil as king and fears future challenges of succession, Helluin thought. Eärnil, once a general and now a king, ponders enlisting the Men of Eriador as allies to stand against Sauron, whilst Prince Eärnur simply chaffs at having learnt so little of the north. These Men are transparent. Yet they have far more to learn this day. She allowed herself the slightest of grins in anticipation.

"Your Majesty, Your Highness, Lord Steward, there is far more to tell that bears directly upon Gondor," Helluin interjected, snapping the attention of the three lords to her eyes. "I deem that for some decades the hostility of the Wainriders is reduced, else your sending force would not have been free to sail for Arthedain."

Helluin noted a subconscious nod of agreement from the king, confirming the effects of Targitai Khan's war on the Medes.

"Those hostilities have not been resumed in the past decades, have they?" She asked.

"Surprisingly, our positions have not been assailed by the Easterling scourge since the mid-1970s," Vorondil answered for his king, prompting a nod from Helluin.

"My lords, Gondor and indeed all the west have mighty allies in the east that are completely unknown to ye," Helluin said.

"Just ere we marshaled our forces to sail for Lindon, the Eagle Meneldor bore hither a prisoner from Rhûn," King Eärnil revealed. "He named himself Burj Aleaqareb and claimed to be from an oasis called Wahat Binya. 'Neath questioning, he told that the Wainriders had come under attack from fanatics loyal to the Red Khan. His words were proved by truth more than trust, and with the cessation of the Wainrider attacks, we sent hence a third of Gondor's armies to honor the Treaty of Araphant and Ondoher."

This tiding was surprising to the Noldo, for she had heard 'naught regarding it from any in Imladris or Lothlórien. Still, 'twas an incomplete tale and far from detailed.

"Wahat Binya fell and its people were slaughtered to the last," she said with a chilling timber in her voice. "I rode with Targitai the Red Khan and participated in its destruction."

Eärnil, Eärnur, and Vorondil stared at her, mouths agape, yet not a word passed their lips for their shock held them mute.

"Wahat Binya was a mud brick city with a mud brick wall, a typical construction in the arid lands of Rhûn," she explained. "Targitai Khan's warriors sang with the sunrise and the wall tumbled down. Then his cavalry charged into the oasis and put its people to the sword. Ere nightfall, the slaughter was full wrought. In latter days, the oasis was raised anew and is now called Didā Artāvan, the Blessed Fortress, a stronghold of the Mâh-Sakâ 'neath the command of Targitai's middle son, Arpoksai Sultan.

Targitai was called the Red Khan by his foes, but his true title was Targitai, Khan of the Red Mountain Clan. He unified his people, the Mâh-Sakâ that some call the Massagetae. At first, they only defended themselves against their hereditary enemies, the Medes that are called the Wainriders in the west. Yet as more and more clans joined Targitai's confederation, they expelled their foes, cleansed their lands, and finally, undertook the destruction of the Medes and their allies as a holy war. They are committed to slaughtering all worshippers of the God of Fire, deeming them infidels, idolaters, and blasphemers.

The Mâh-Sakâ are rigorous in their devotion to Eru and the Valar, and they are the greatest mortal allies of Gondor now in Middle Earth. Though Targitai Khan has passed from Arda, his daughter now rules as Tahmirih Khātūn, whilst her three brothers prosecute the war as generals. They command a half-million cavalry and count the Ithryn Luin as allies. That alliance now holds well 'nigh the entire east save Mordor only. Gondor shall suffer no further incursions by the Wainriders, for I deem that only a few thousand still live."

King Eärnil's look of shock turned to a sigh of relief. For the first time since ere he had taken the throne, he was freed from the threat of the Easterling horde. 'Twas just in time, for now he had a more pressing concern that had exploded in the past years; Minas Morgul, the Nazgûl, and lurking behind them, Sauron Gorthaur, e'er the greatest threat to the Dúnedain.

With his son and steward, he could not but be amazed…a half-million cavalry! Not since the days of Ar-Pharazôn had so great an army of Men ridden to war. Eärnil in particular barely controlled his reaction, for a fraction of that count had worsted Gondor's Northern Army in 1944, slaying King Ondoher, and his sons. Had he faced so many riders, not only would Ithilien have fallen, but probably all of Gondor as well. He shook his head in wonder and thanksgiving.

"I cannot recall hearing more welcome tidings, Helluin," the king said, "and thou hast my thanks. 'Tis a great blessing, to know that we are not alone in our stand against the evil of our Age."

"Thou art not alone, Your Majesty, and 'tis not only the Mâh-Sakâ who fight against Sauron," Helluin told him. "As ye may know, some Wise Men appeared in Middle Earth a thousand years past, for to contend with Sauron should he arise again."

To this, Eärnil, Eärnur, and Vorondil nodded 'aye', for rumor of the Ithryn was known in Gondor. Yet their lore of the Wizards was far from complete, and though the White and the Grey had briefly visited the South Kingdom at different times, neither had been seen in the lifetimes of the present generation.

"In the east dwell two of that order," the Noldo said, "not seen in the west. They are Alatar and Pallando, the Blue Wizards. South beyond the Sea of Rhûn, they command an impregnable citadel and a formidable garrison of Elves and Men. They are allies of the Mâh-Sakâ, and with them, destroyed Sauron's stronghold in the east, slew a monster from the Elder Days, and slaughtered an army of some fifty thousand Wainriders. We drove Gorthaur hence and razed his fortress, sealing a portal to the underworld that leaked daemons into Middle Earth. To achieve that campaign, we created a weapon of surpassing destructiveness and ultimate lethality."

Being Men of military background and well versed in the weapons of their Age, Eärnil and Eärnur looked to Helluin with great interest. They wondered what more than a half-million warriors could any alliance possibly want for. Vorondil felt a thrill of foreboding. 'Cross the table from him sat the Úlairdacil who had defeated Sauron's Nine in the Great War. By all accounts, her own weapons were of surpassing potency. He wondered what could possibly be so deadly that t'would wring such a description from her.

"Pray speak to us of this stronghold of Sauron, for it sounds e'ery bit as evil as Mordor," King Eärnil requested.

The Steward Vorondil gave Helluin a calculating look and said, "I would know of this weapon that defeated him."

"I could spend much time in speech, my lords, trying to convey what came to pass, but more quickly and more accurately I could simply show ye," Helluin said, looking from the king to the prince and then to the steward.

The three Dúnedain regarded her with brows raised in question and it took Helluin a moment to realize that none of the High Elvish folk had come to Gondor in twenty centuries. Only in the south 'nigh Belfalas did a small contingent of Nandor yet remain, living quietly on the shores of the sea 'til they sailed into the west, and well 'nigh forgotten in the City of Kings. Though they were historically allies, Men and Elves had grown estranged and now even the King of Gondor knew not the ways of Ósanwe¹. ¹(Ósanwe, Exchange of thought, basically, telepathy Quenya)

"Amongst the Elves, 'tis possible to share in thought without speech," she declared. "In doing so, 'tis not just words, but memories that can be shared. We can do thus with other kindreds as well, and in just such manner I speak at whiles with horses, dogs, wolves, birds, cats, and some trees. If ye would look into my eyes, I shall show ye what came to pass in the east in years gone by. What ye see shall then be as new memories for yourselves."

Excited by the prospect of witnessing such an epic battle, Prince Eärnur barely blinked ere staring into Helluin's eyes and saying, "I should like to see the defeat of Sauron in the east."

"Hast thou spoken thus with other Men, Helluin?" King Eärnil asked, his uncertainty palpable.

"Most recently, I showed King Frumgar my memories of Dol Guldur to dissuade him from accompanying me thither simply to sightsee," she said. "With Tahmirih I shared my combat against the Nazgûl in Orodruin, and with Targitai I shared my memories of the Blessed Realm."

Then for a while, the attention of the king was turned within. She asked that he surrender his mind and tempted him with arcane knowledge, yet that knowledge bore heavily on the welfare of Gondor, and he was king. Aye, he was king, and for a time, he would be a willing thrall. The idea made him shiver.

Eärnil counted his years six score and he had been king for 'nigh three score, yet ere taking the throne by popular acclaim, he had been a soldier for forty-five years. In the city, military service was common if not expected for sons of the noble families, so he had enlisted in King Ondoher's army. A score years' service and an officer's bars would have been the standard achievements, but he had stayed, climbing the ranks to become General of the Southern Army. Five and a half decades later, 'twas still soldiers rather than courtiers that he understood best.

Like e'ery other young enlistee, he had spent nights in taverns or in the barracks, and he had heard the tales of the great battles of Gondor's history, indeed several versions of most. The victory of Calimehtar in 1899 and the defeat of Narmacil II in 1856 had been the most recent, but older tales were still told. In those days, he had learnt more of the Great War than what his tutors' lessons e'er revealed, and amongst the soldiers' lore were the Legend of the Úlairdacil and the Fall of the Nine. Eärnil had ne'er been sure whether to believe them or not, for they seemed…far-fetched.

Now at the table with him sat one who knew that lore from personal memory, a consummate warrior who had even assailed Sauron, and in his own keep, no less. The temptation to hear that tale was strong, and yet she offered to tell a tale more amazing still for that 'twas wholly unknown. The Elves and their magicks were little known save amongst the lore masters of the city, and yet, if he could not trust his realm's oldest ally, who then could he trust? He nodded to himself, his mind finally decided.

"I accept thine offer, Helluin, for I would know the state of my enemy."

Helluin then turned to Vorondil, who had remained silent. The steward looked her in the eyes as if trying to read her intentions, but finally he sighed and said, "I serve at the pleasure of my king. I too shall see thy visions, Helluin."

"Draugrán, Dúnriel, keep watch that we remain undisturbed," Helluin said, thereby emptying the other chairs at the table as the Rangers rose and faced the side door and the main entrance. "My lords, pray avail yourselves of the chairs facing me and then stare into my eyes. I shall do the rest."

The king and the prince moved 'round the table to seat themselves beside Vorondil, and then they looked 'cross the table, deeply into Helluin's eyes. For a moment, each felt as if he was drowning in a cloudless summer sky that rushed down upon him, and then they no longer sat in the king's withdrawing chamber in Minas Tirith.

The landscape was mostly flat, dun, scrubby, and dry. A quick glance o'erhead revealed Anor halfway 'twixt horizon and zenith, mid-morn. They rode into a cutting that passed through a ridgeline, following companies of mounted warriors, both mortal and immortal. Twisting 'round to look behind revealed a small cart following closely, bearing its cargo hidden 'neath a shroud. Finally, they came to the opening of the cutting and there beheld Sheol, Skator, Hell, the Land of No Return. 'Twas the eastern redoubt of Sauron Gorthaur. Without knowing 'aught of Nehemoth and the Husks of Contention, they felt the aura of evil that lay heavy upon that land.

They marked that the ridge encircled a flat plain a league in diameter, and upon a spur at its center rose the fortress of Sauron with its watchtower and the dome of a temple to the God of Fire. 'Twas easily recognizable from the lore of Westernesse, for the Dark Lord had raised just such a structure at Armenelos in the reign of Ar-Pharazôn.

Before them, a host lay encamped, Wainriders, fifty thousand at least, their camp in an uproar, for encircling them just within the ridge were twenty thousand mounted warriors ready to offer battle.

Now the shroud was stripped from the cart revealing a construction of curved mirrors and cylindrical glass, its purpose wholly indecipherable to the Men of Gondor.

'Tis E-Ngúrglaw, The Death Ray, they heard Helluin's voice whisper in their ears, the weapon that shall lay low the Lord of Lies.

In the next moment, their eye point mounted the cart to take a small seat 'twixt the mirrors. Bare legs rested on a brace supporting her ankles.

"Ready?" She asked Maglor, who stood behind her.

"Aye, ready whene'er thou art," he replied, and a heartbeat later, she burst into an eye-scorching ril of silver and gold.

The beam lanced out but a yard above the ground, and it cut down 'aught that stood in an arrow-slim swath that brooked no interruption 'til it struck the base of the central spur. E-ngúrglaw had pierced them belly high and begun to etch the rock a mile and a half away. In that moment, all movement in the Wainrider camp froze in shock. In that moment, a great cheer rose from the throats of the wizards' host. Maglor panned The Death Ray from side to side, and like a scythe, it mowed down all the Men and horses that stood before it. In moments, hundreds died and those not slain tried to flee.

Administering the vision, Helluin felt their visceral fear as the three Dúnedain tried to recoil from the horror they had witnessed, but Helluin held them motionless with her will. Ye ain't seen nothin' yet, she thought and grinned.

The Wainriders fled in terror from the beam of Light and into holes bored 'neath the spur of rock some blindly ran. Then from one of those holes came a horror, a monster in spider's form, huge as Ungoliant who had encompassed the Darkening of Valinor.

As predictable as she had e'er been and driven by her lust of prey, Ungolúróg came forth from the safety of her tunnels. She snatched Wainriders and horses right and left, stinging them in a frenzy, whilst oblivious to 'aught else including her own great peril.

Helluin lashed out with her new weapon. The beam of Light leapt from the breach in the surrounding ridge and swept side to side, hewing Ungolúróg's legs from 'neath her bulk and cutting down any Men unlucky enough to be in its path. It wavered a moment, and then swept back, slightly higher now, and sliced her body top from bottom as effortlessly a razor through the fatty wattle 'neath a burgher's chin. The great spider literally fell apart, revealing that 'twas filled with greenish slime. In the next instant, the beam of Light winked out again.

'Cross the circular plain another army of cavalry began to pour onto the battlefield, foiling the flight of the Wainriders. As the lords of Minas Tirith watched, that torrent of riders continued on and on 'til they filled the far side of the crater.

A quarter-million Mâh-Sakâ arrive at Sheol, Helluin said.

A cavalry battle well 'nigh incomprehensible in scale was ignited and the circular plain was awash with fighting. Though they had numbered fifty thousand, the Wainriders were outmanned five to one. Atop the tower, the black cloud that was Sauron's physical form seemed to watch in horrified fascination.

Again the beam of Light streaked from The Death Ray, and this time, it found the tower. Maglor saw the beam strike, hold, and then blast skyward, having cleaved stone and mortar. Slowly, he rotated the cart to his right, toward the north, and as he did so, he allowed the beam to lower just as slowly.

The concentrated Light of Aman sliced a diagonal breach through the tower. 'Naught could resist its bite. Sauron's entire chamber had been riven and the upper section began to slide free 'til it crashed to the ground on the north side of the fortress, raising a cloud of dust and leaving behind the black cloud.

With the fall of the tower, the Mâh-Sakâ fell upon the Wainriders with increased vigor. Their bewildered foes had little will to resist for they were shocked to their cores whilst any increases in prowess gleaned from their master's conjuring had been withdrawn.

One last time, the spear of Light blasted forth from E-Ngúrglaw, and this time 'twas Sauron that it struck. Maglor held the beam steady as it stripped away centuries of the Dark Lord's accumulated power.

The fallen Maia abandoned the battle and fled his fortress, a dark cloud shrieking into the west. In the next moment, ere Maglor could alter his aim to track their routed foe, the beam flickered once and then with an audible 'pop', winked out.

The scene shifted. From the mouth of the east cutting through the ridge, their view was now looking towards the spur from the west, from within the camp of the victorious Mâh-Sakâ. 'Round them they could feel the nervous energy of the host as they watched the slowly condensing shadows of creatures materializing 'round the stricken tower of Sauron.

"They quicken! From the husk of intent to the husk of being, they descend into Arda. We are witnessing the birth of daemons!" 'Twas the voice of Pallando, one of the two Blue Wizards.

Upon receiving his words, a great uproar took the Mâh-Sakâ. Evil was condensing from thought to flesh right before their eyes. Those standing 'nigh looked nervously to the Noldor as if willing them to hasten their preparations.

"My lords, they are spiders!" Lipoksai cried out to the Ithryn Luin.

E'ery eye and e'ery viewing tube turned to watch. Helluin seized her telescope and cast her gaze to the tower. Though still vaporous, the spirits had attained to forms, bulbous bodies with segmented legs radiating from their centers. She watched as they continued to solidify.

"They are not spiders! They have too many legs!" She exclaimed.

"They take inspiration from the one they knew, the one that dwelt closest to their own realm as they bequeath themselves forms," Pallando said in horror.

With urgency, Helluin had taken her seat on the weapon, and she burst into a blinding ril of holy Light.

The beam of The Death Ray blasted from the glass rod and struck the pile of oiled wood, yet even ere it could catch, ere it kindled or hint of smoke could rise from the fuel, a massive gout of flame exploded out of the gates. Suddenly, a roaring lake of fire filled the bailey and the open space before walls where o'er an acre of ground disappeared 'neath the conflagration. It lasted barely long enough for a gasp to rise from the throats of the gathered host.

The initial ignition birthed a storm front of flames that raced away down twisting streets and narrow lanes, all filled shoulder deep with flammable gas. The advancing tidal bore of fire boomed in a constant detonation whilst behind it, the flames were extinguished as its vacuum sucked in e'ery available breath of air. The fire shot through the fortress, encompassing all within the walls in a conflagration the likes of which even the Wizards had not imagined. Then the explosions of gas trapped in lairs, basements, dungeons, tunnels, and storerooms began. In a rapid progression from south to north, the blasts rocked the plain. The walls of Sheol were shivered and the host was shaken so that 'twas difficult to remain standing. The beam from E-ngúrglaw winked out as Helluin ceased her incandescence.

In what had been only heartbeats, the racing flames reached the temple and the tower. In the temple, a font of fire rose to erupt from the oculus in the dome. The pressure of the expanding gasses ruptured the masonry, sending a mushroom cloud of fire skyward as the dome collapsed.

A blink only passed as the leaping fire breached the citadel. The great hall, 'nigh filled with flammable vapors, rocked with a massive detonation, launching the tower upward like a missile that disintegrated as it rose. The sight of it lasted barely long enough to register in the mind ere the fire blasted its way down the stairwell.

Deep in the black depths 'neath the crater of Sheol, vast chambers 'twixt layers of rock had been forced open by the influences of Nehemoth and the husks 'neath it, Gamaliel, Samael, Harab Serapel, Thagirion, Golachab, Gamchicoth, Sathariel, Chaigidel, and Thumiel, that sought to undo all that had been wrought in the First Song. The very malice and contention they coalesced brought changes in the rock itself, making it as volatile as the evil that radiated from these primal spheres. The source of the flammable gas was there, and the pressure of evil forcing its way into Arda was reflected on the physical plane in the pressure of the gas.

… the crater heaved in torment and Men and Elves were thrown to the ground. For a fraction of a moment the walls and buildings of Sheol seemed to sink, and then they were blasted skyward, all launched in a ball of fire that encompassed the spur. Rocky missiles whizzed 'cross the intervening half-league to rain down upon the host. In a deafening blast, the guts of the subterranean husk of Nehemoth erupted upwards with devastating violence in the greatest explosion of that Age.

In the aftermath, the lords of Gondor saw the fiery pit that was all that remained of Sheol. 'Twas surely the mouth of Udûn, a sheer-sided sinkhole two miles 'cross and two furlongs deep, filled with fire. O'erhead, a mushroom shaped cloud of dust and smoke rose to a league in height and then slowly blew away into the east.

With a blink, Helluin released the king, the prince, and the steward. They sat shivering and panting, speechless and pale. Helluin saw the sheen of sweat on their faces and the abject terror in their eyes as their minds reeled in denial of what they had seen.

"'Twas not war such as ye are accustomed to, yet 'twas war all the same. Light and darkness met with violence and many evils were vanquished that day. I deem that Sauron was not the greatest of them," Helluin said.

To Be Continued